


Close Encounters

by Fight_Surrender



Series: The Marrieds [3]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sex Talk, Simon wears glasses, SnowBaz, Sorry Not Sorry, Tantric Sex, Thirtysomething Snowbaz, attempted tantric sex, dirty literary character talk, feel free to fill in the blanks smut writers, hairmageddon 2020, i write the fluff not the smut, married snowbaz, mention of bazs pubes, mentions of Sting, no actual smut, sorry for the lack of smut, tw chest hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25808824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fight_Surrender/pseuds/Fight_Surrender
Summary: Things have been too routine lately, too comfortable. Our relationship is fine, it’s just—every day is the same. The never-ending cycle of work, dinner, sleep, weekend, rinse and repeat. I just want to shake things up a little. To add a little intimacy to the places where familiarity has crept in over the last fifteen years.Or Baz is feeling a little disconnected and he decides that they need to try Tantric sex to achieve a better mind-body connection. Simon obliges. Humor and fluff ensues.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: The Marrieds [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540600
Comments: 15
Kudos: 99





	Close Encounters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BazzyBelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BazzyBelle/gifts).



> Happy Birthday BazzyBelle! Thanks so much for your wonderful friendship and support. I hope you like this lil thing I came up with. The idea randomly came to mind months ago and somehow I thought you would get a kick out of it. <3 <3 
> 
> Thanks to artescapri/tbazzsnow for your beta magician skills and joke/spell assistance! 
> 
> In case you're wondering, < a href=”https://www.goodtoknow.co.uk/wellbeing/relationships/tantric-sex-69302#:~:text=Tantric%20sex%20is%20an%20ancient,can%20lead%20to%20powerful%20orgasms.” > this < /a > is the article Baz was referencing (I'm not sure if that link is gonna work, it looks a little sketchy.)

“Did you know Sting and Trudie have sex for seven hours at a stretch?”

“What?” Simon responds, looking at me over his glasses. A log shifts in the fireplace, sending a cascade of brilliant sparks into the air. He casts a glance at the flames, always en guarde of my combustible virtue.

“ _Sting_. And _Trudie_. Have sex for _hours_.”

Snow wrinkles his nose at me. He’s sneering, but he looks delicious in a worn Watford football jumper and pajama bottoms. “Sting? The musician? Who’s Trudie? His wife?” He shifts in the leather chair and snaps his book shut. “You speak like you know them.” His curls dance with gold and shadow in the firelight.

“I do know them. How do you think I learned to play guitar?” I pick up my wine glass and take a sip.

“I didn’t know you played guitar.”

“Well, it was a phase when I was seven and father needed something to do with me while he was courting Daphne. I spent a lot of time at their place in Wiltshire. They’re practically family.”

“I don’t recall seeing them at our wedding.”

“My family fell out with them years ago. Sting couldn’t get into Watford because he was a low powered magician from a poor family. Needless to say, he was very pro-Mage.”

Snow gets up and plops down next to me on the sofa. He picks up my glass and drinks the rest of my wine.

“Are you going to refill that?” I ask.

“Eventually.” He says, leaning back and hooking a leg over mine. “What’s this about seven-hour sex? Aren’t they like eighty now? How do you even _have_ sex for seven hours? My back would give out after at least the first hour or two.”

 _I may need more wine to sell this idea_. “Maybe they’ve adjusted for their golden years, but they are avid Tantric practitioners.” I cast **_glass half full,_** and rich burgundy liquid swirls into my cup. A heavy pour.

“Total waste of magic,” Simon says, kissing my neck. “What the fuck is Tantric? Is this one of your ‘getting to know your Egyptian side’ things?”

“No, Snow. Wrong continent.” I look over at him now, steel myself with a rather sizable portion of wine. “Tantric sex is a way to get closer to your partner. It’s a bit like yoga, where you seek a mind-body connection.”

“Babe, we’ve been together almost fifteen years. I’ve held your hair back when you puked at Penelope and Shep’s wedding. You’ve proven you can find every mole on my body blindfolded.” How much closer can we get?”

A shift and a push and Snow is straddling me. It’s a struggle to hang on to my wine glass, I drink a bit more, so it doesn’t spill. “And furthermore, you know I hate yoga.” He’s murmuring in my ear, using his sexy voice.

“You’ll like _this_ yoga, Simon. It’s all about the buildup. Slowing down to enjoy each other, rather than rushing to the end.” Snow carefully opens my shirt, kissing his way down my chest with the soft pop of each button.

“Did Achilles and Patroclus have Tantric sex?” Simon whispers, planting languid kisses up my neck.

“No, that’s Greek mythology. Wrong country.” I close my eyes and breathe deeply to cool the flame coiling low in my gut. Snow knows I love it when he talks LGBTQ art and literature to me.

“How about Damen and Laurent? Do they have hot, mind-body connection Tantric sex?” Simon fiddles with the button on my jeans.

“Those are fictional characters, you knob.” I say, swatting his hand away from my crotch, “Actually, Laurent likes it slow, so—maybe?”

Undeterred, Simon’s hands roam north. “Alex and Henry?” Thumbs swipe across my nipples, sending a lightning bolt straight to my cock. This will not do. I have to put a stop to this, or it will all be over far too soon.

“Henry would be all over it, but Alex doesn’t have the attention span,” I gasp. _This is not going according to plan._

I gently push him off my lap, then stand up, offering him my hand. “Come on, my love. Bedroom. We’re doing this my way.”

Simon rolls his eyes and gives me a wan smile. “Can’t we just fuck the old-fashioned way?”

“Yoga is a five-thousand-year-old practice, you can’t get much older than that. Now come.”

“In seven hours?” Simon grumbles, but he’s still smiling. He takes my hand and follows me to our room.

**Simon**

“Monty and Percy probably do it.” Yes, I’m trying to distract Baz. This whole Tantric sex thing sounds terrifying. Occasionally Baz drags me to his yoga class. It’s humiliating. I can barely hold the poses and I’m sore for days. It’s all sweat, and awkwardness, and heavy breathing. There’s nothing sexy about it.

Then again—sweaty Baz, breathing heavily, and doing the poses is well sexy.

Maybe he’s on to something.

“More fictional characters, Snow?” Baz snaps from somewhere to my left.”Granted, yoga was quite scandalous in the Victorian era, so I’m sure Monty would happily partake.” The room is pitch black. (No pun intended.) “Now shut up and strip,” Baz's voice comes from further into the room, near the bed. 

With a muffled pop, candles all over the room come alight, casting the room in soft, dancing shadows.

“You’ve been plotting,” I say, looking around in wonder. Baz didn’t cast a spell. “Did you light those candles with your mind?”

“Yeah,” Baz answers sheepishly. “I’ve been practicing.”

“Merlin, what day is it? “Did I miss our anniversary?”

“No, Snow. It’s not our anniversary. Why are you still dressed?”

Baz is naked and sitting on the floor, legs crossed like an incredibly sexy vampire Buddha.

“Strip. Then sit.” He commands.

I do.

**Baz**

Yes, I’ve been plotting.

Things have been too routine lately, too comfortable. Our relationship is fine, it’s just—every day is the same. The never-ending cycle of work, dinner, sleep, weekend, rinse and repeat. I just want to shake things up a little. To add a little intimacy to the places where familiarity has crept in over the last fifteen years.

“Why are we even on the floor?” Simon asks, settling onto the blanket I’ve spread out. “We have a perfectly fine, if ridiculously overpriced, bed.”

“The article says to avoid the bed because it triggers your sleep button.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure sleep will be the last thing on your mind,” Simon slides a hand up my thigh. I slap it away.

Snow is making it very difficult to focus. I pull out my phone and flick it awake. He grabs it.

“Did you _Google_ yoga sex?” He laughs, turning away to peer at the screen. “Baz—you forgot the— ‘shake your limbs vigorously to energise and unblock your system before you start’—part.” He’s cackling now.

I pounce. Straddling him and pinning him to the ground. (Yes, I used my vampire speed. Needs must.) I hold eye contact while I slowly take back my phone. He stops laughing, intrigued.

I could bite him. I’ve done it before. It’s probably the only good thing that came out of that ill begotten trip to America. I acquired Lamb, a highly unreliable but thoroughly educational vampire godfather. It seems that I need _some_ human blood to survive. Simon, glorious idiot that he is, willingly donates. We have an agreement: someday I’m going to Turn him, just not today.

“Baz?” Simon’s face is scrunched, squinting in the general direction of my chest.

“I know my pecs are a work of art, Simon, but my eyes are up here.”

“No, I mean yeah, but—” His mouth curls into a sneer as he leans in, poking at a spot just to the side of my right nipple. “Is that a—” Snow flicks his finger, like he’s trying to rub off a piece of lint. “ _White chest hair_?”

 _Fucking hell_. “Where?”

“Right there,” Simon is still pointing, “I didn’t even know that was a thing. I mean I know people get white _head_ hair, but—” His brows nearly touch as he looks up at me, “People get white hair _everywhere_?”

“Hair is hair, Snow. It’s all subject to the fickleness of melanin, you nightma—” Simon’s eyes widen, and his hands go to his mouth.

“Oh my God,” he laughs, pointing again, this time at my crotch. “That’s why you started shaving your pubes, isn’t it?”

My mouth drops and I feel my face heat.

“All that naff about ‘enhanced sensation’ was total bollocks wasn’t it?”

I try to stand, but Simon grabs my thighs and pulls me close. I find myself enveloped in a chortling bear hug. “Baby’s first white pubes. Honey, you should have told me you’re becoming a silver fox.”

He takes my head in his hands, “I’m here to help you through these awkward life stages.” He looks at me earnestly, “You can always talk to me, you know. Or I could at least get you a book."

“I fucking hate you.” I sigh and slide my arms around his neck, nestling my head under his chin.

Simon pulls me closer, “I love you so much. Even when you’re an irritable, vain twat.” He leans back and levels his eyes at me, “Can we have sex yet?

I roll my eyes. Part of me wants to give in, lose myself in his expert kisses and go from there. Another part wants to stick with the plan on principle.

I am a man of principle.

“You took joy in my personal misfortune,” I stand up and walk to the loo. “You’re going to have to work for it now,” I cast a smoldering look at him over my shoulder. When I reach the bathroom, I close the door and start looking. Where is that little fucker? I find the offending hair and dispatch it with tweezers.

I return to the room and sit in front of Simon, taking his hands in mine.

“You plucked it didn’t you?” Smiling his million-watt smile.

“Shut up and look into my eyes. Breathe with me.”

Snow chuckles, warm and low. Then he kisses the bump on my nose before settling into a respectable lotus pose. He squints at me again, “Should I wear my glasses for this?”

“No, Snow, this is a glasses-free experience.”

“Well, I can’t see your eyes from here, so I’ve got to get closer.” He then proceeds to climb into my lap, wrapping his legs around my waist. Snow places his hands on my cheeks and tilts his forehead into mine. “This ok?” He whispers, pulling back slightly to catch my eyes in his.

“Yeah,” I whisper back.

For a moment, I’m lost in the blue. I can’t believe I ever thought Simon’s eyes were ordinary. This is the illicit blue of the clear summer sky. Aquamarine. The robin’s egg, impending.

I take a breath. In. Out.

Simon’s breath smells like red wine and the faint burn of the stress cigarettes he thinks I don’t know about. He picked up the habit in his twenties, the occasional smoke when life gets overwhelming. Simon can’t keep his heart out of his work. His cases at the children’s advocacy center are always difficult, but some hit closer to home than others. He tries not to bring it home, but I can see it in the set of his jaw, the bags under his eyes. The drag of it.

He’s still so lovely.

I breathe again. He does too.

In. Out.

We’re here. Together.

I close my eyes and lean in. My lips find his.

Simon doesn’t miss a beat, sliding a hand to the back of my head he carefully guides me back to the floor. The first few kisses are slow. Tentative. _Hello. Is this ok?_ Then the kisses progress to _\- I missed you, I love you, you’re mine, I’m yours._ It’s hot, and intimate, and real. Simon’s hand slides down my chest, to my thigh, thumbs the crease where my leg joins.

He pulls back, “Oh shit.” Eyes wide. “Are we still being Tantric?”

I laugh and chase his mouth with mine, “No. Take me to bed, you oaf.”

***

“What was that about, anyway?” Simon asks.

I am spent. Boneless. Thoroughly fucked. I **_clean as a whistled_** the majority of the mess, but we’re still vaguely disgusting. I snuggle closer to Simon and kiss his Adam’s apple; he tastes like salt and vinegar.

I sigh, “I don’t know. I just felt—a bit—disconnected,” I run my hand across his chest, feeling the golden thatch of hair he’s carefully cultivated, proud of every follicle.

“And now?” Fingers through my hair, he stops at a knot, smoothing it behind my ear. I suspect I’m more than a bit tousled. Outside, rain lashes the windows. 

“Much more connected, thank you.”

Simon hums and wraps his arms around me, “So our first Tantric attempt didn’t quite hit that seven-hour mark. Are you going to be alright, love?”

“Yes,” I smile against his chest, “We will have to keep trying. That’s why it’s called a _practice_.”


End file.
